


and no one likes to be alone

by haiplana



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Angst, Disco, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Flirting, Gay Bar, Ice Skating, Personal Growth, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Smut, Strap-Ons, bartender Denali, fuckboy Rosé, singer rose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29731287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haiplana/pseuds/haiplana
Summary: Denali’s thought of Rosé more times that week than she’ll care to admit. Something about the way she talks, the way her lips turn up into a smirk or the way her eyes appraise Denali at every move — it’s all unforgettable. Every time she slips into a Rosé-tinted reverie, however, the image of her with that blonde pops into her head; and then she thinks of every other time she’s seen Rosé hitting on a coworker or dancing with a different woman.It doesn’t matter how much Rosé’s gaze makes her feel like the only woman in the room — that’s exactly what Rosé wants her to think, and what she wants every other woman in the room to think, too.'Don’t fuck with fuckboys,' Denali thinks to herself for the hundredth time.
Relationships: Denali Foxx/Rosé
Comments: 39
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this really was supposed to be a oneshot but, as usual, I wrote too much

“See something you like?”

Denali hears the voice over the thud of music. It’s loud and clear, projected from the chest with the ease of a professional singer, and it catapults Denali from her daydreaming (night-dreaming?). She’s been zoned out, staring at the edge of the bar, but now she notices that the granite countertop has been covered by a pair of breasts poking through geometric cutouts of a black halter-top. Her eyes flick up.

Rosé’s tongue pokes between her teeth as she smiles mischievously, and the sight is enough to make Denali blush — both from embarrassment at accidentally staring at Rosé’s boobs and for noticing that sliver of tongue. She decides to look away from her lips, flicking from her hazel eyes to her pastel pink hair. Rosé, still waiting for her answer, smiles wider.

“No,” Denali says. She pushes away from the alcohol-lined wall and looks for some glasses to clean.

“I don’t think we’ve met before.” Rosé sticks out her hand, places it within Denali’s peripheral view. Denali continues to soak used glasses in the soapy sink water. “I’m Rosé.”

Denali knows Rosé. She’s seen her perform her set at the club the last three Fridays and two Saturdays. She’s also seen Rosé hit on her coworkers and stumble out of the club with a different girl each weekend, just like every other self-important, up-and-coming singer Olivia has hired to play at De-Lux. She knows Rosé — but she knows telling her that will make her ego even bigger.

Denali doesn’t take her hand. “Denali.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Denali.” Rosé pulls her hand away slowly, shakes her head. “You been working here long?”

“Every weekend for two years.”

“How come I haven’t seen you before?” Rosé asks.

Denali has been keeping her hands and her eyes busy, but she stops toweling off a highball glass to look at Rosé. She’s smirking like she thinks she’s smooth, and it’s all Denali can do to keep from rolling her eyes.

“You’ve probably been too busy flirting with someone else,” she says.

Rosé’s smirk falters, and she straightens her shoulders, clears her throat. “So you’ve noticed me, then.”

Now, Denali does roll her eyes. “Are you ordering a drink or are you just here to harass me?”

“Yeah, uh.” Rosé looks at the wall of alcohol, her mouth parted just slightly. Denali looks away. “Could I get a Scotch, please?”

Denali nods and goes for their Scotch collection. She pulls a bottle of The Macallan and while she finds a glass for it, she looks around for her other coworkers. It’s late, and the crowd at the club is starting to thin. She guesses Olivia let most of the other bartenders go — no one’s getting drinks now, anyway, preferring instead to get in their last few minutes on the dance floor. Denali isn’t even sure why Rosé is still here, since her set ended at least an hour ago.

When she turns around with the Scotch, she notices that Rosé’s eyes are on the dance floor, Denali completely forgotten. So, there’s her answer — she’s waiting to take someone home. Denali considers throwing the drink at Rosé before remembering that she’s their most popular entertainer right now. Instead, she slams it down on the bar counter, making Rosé’s head whip around to look at her.

“It’s eight dollars,” Denali says.

Rosé picks up the glass and takes a sip. “Liv says my drinks are covered, but—” She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a few crumpled bills, tossing them on the counter. “See you later, ‘Nali.” Rosé lifts her glass to Denali in a silent toast, winks, and heads for the dance floor.

Denali takes a deep breath to keep from throwing up.

Twenty minutes later, the DJ announces that it’s closing time. Denali sighs her relief and leans on the freshly-cleaned counter to watch the parade of drunk, sweaty people leave the club. She’s done all the clearing, washing, and cleaning, so she’s counting the seconds until she and Olivia check the registers before closing up. Groups of straight girls cackle on their way past the bar, two guys are nearly falling over each other. Denali spots the college kids, the people who are definitely too old to be at a gay bar this late, and then she sees Rosé.

Rosé, whose arm is draped over the shoulders of a short blonde in a piece of fabric Denali’s hesitant to call a dress. Rosé, who, before Denali can look away, glances to the bar and locks eyes with her. She raises an eyebrow and tips her chin in a douchey farewell before refocusing on the babbling blonde and leaving the bar. Denali looks away and tucks a stray piece of black hair behind her ear.

She doesn’t know why it pisses her off so much, but suddenly she’s tossing her drying towel to the side and pulling a cash register drawer open. The drawer catches its edge suddenly and the spare coins fly out with the force of it. Denali groans, loud enough for the last few patrons to hear her as they pass.

“Woah,” Olivia says, suddenly at her side. She puts a hand on Denali’s arm, and the tension in Denali’s shoulders begins to subside. “What’s going on, hun?”

Denali sighs. “Nothing.” She smiles at Olivia — or, she tries to, at least — and bends down to start picking up the loose change. Above her, Olivia takes a stack of cash to count silently. Denali knows she’s giving her space, but as soon as she stands up, she’ll press the issue — so she takes her time picking up the coins.

Olivia is working on the second stack when Denali gets up and deposits the coins in their holders.

“A hundred and fifty.” Olivia hands her two stacks to Denali to add back to the register before taking another. “Talk to me, Denali.”

Denali busies herself with counting so she doesn’t have to see Olivia’s gentle smile. “I just had a bad night. Someone—” Denali shakes her head. “Never mind.”

She can’t backtrack now, though, because Olivia’s protective mode is already on. “Who bothered you? Was it a college kid? We’re getting too soft on the fake IDs, I’ll tell Jerry to start turning them away.”

“No, no, it wasn’t a college kid. It’s not that serious.”

“Yes it is.” Olivia takes the stack of money away from Denali mid-count, forcing Denali to look at her. “You’re my best friend _and_ my best employee. It’s literally my job to protect you from creepy assholes.”

Denali tilts her head back slightly and pinches the bridge of her nose. “It was Rosé.” She snaps her head down and points a finger at Olivia, stopping whatever words were about to come out of her open mouth. “Chill out, she wasn’t actually doing anything wrong. She just… gets under my skin, is all.”

“Ah.” Olivia laughs a little. “So you like her.”

“I don’t like her.”

“Sure.”

Denali narrows her eyes. “I don’t!”

“Whatever you say.” Olivia puts the cash back in the drawer and moves down the bar to the other register.

Denali follows her. “I literally haven’t spoken to her before tonight, how could I know that I like her?”

“How could you know that you don’t like her, either?” Olivia asks.

“I know her type.” Denali leans against the bar and bites her lip to keep from thinking about Rosé, the way she looked at her with that smirk, the way she had her arm around that other girl. “She’s a fuckboy, Liv. I don’t mess around with fuckboys, they’re too cocky and too selfish.”

“Wouldn’t she technically be a fuckgirl?”

“Fuckboy, fuckgirl, it doesn’t matter. She thinks she’s hot shit and that she can do whatever she wants without regard to other people,” Denali says. She reaches over Olivia to get another stack of cash so they can finish and she can go home, finally ridding her mind of Rosé.

Olivia shakes her head disapprovingly. “You don’t know if she’s really like that.”

“Liv, she’s hit on every woman in this club.”

“She hasn’t hit on me,” Olivia says. Denali levels a stare at her, and Olivia sighs. “Okay, fine, she has, but I think she’s just friendly. She’s actually hot and she knows it, there’s nothing wrong with a little confidence.”

Denali ignores her, piling the cash together and handing it to Olivia. “Here, three-eighty. I’m going home.”

“Denali—”

“I’m not mad at you,” Denali says, ducking down to get her phone and keys from the cabinet under the bar. She stands up and sees Olivia’s face — troubled, just like any other time Olivia feels like she’s done something wrong. Denali hugs her to quell her anxiety. “I’m sorry. I love you, I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Love you, Denali.” Olivia presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “Be safe, call me if you get into trouble.”

Denali rolls her eyes and starts heading for the back exit. “You worry too much, Liv!”

The walk home is shockingly quiet for a late-night in Manhattan. Cabs whizz past her, taking drunk people home from clubs or unfortunate workers to graveyard shifts. Some of the bodegas are still open, and the bakery a block from her apartment is just turning off its lights. There’s no one on the sidewalks, no men to catcall her or women hurrying on their way to safety. Denali breathes in the cold air and the stillness of it all, right in the heart of New York, which feels like the center of the world.

Denali’s apartment building is glaringly bright at the end of the street, and she follows the glow like a beacon. There’s no doorman — she’s not boujee like that — so she lets herself in with a key fob and takes the rickety elevator up to the tenth floor. Her legs feel heavier with each step, and by the time she slams her front door behind her she’s considering just passing out on the sofa. She looks at the lumpy cushions and, for the sake of her back, decides against it.

Sleep usually comes easy to her on the weekends, especially after her long shifts at the rink during the day and nights at De-Lux Nightclub. Tonight, however, Denali can’t seem to sleep. Each time she feels herself falling into dreams something in her mind screams for her to wake up. Her internal monologue is delusional, ranting about this or that, and then she hears music playing in her head. Not just any music — a song that Rosé played in her set that night. The third time she wakes up to the ghost of a thudding bass and curly pink hair, Denali pulls her melatonin out of her nightstand drawer and shuts that voice up.

* * *

It’s another Friday, and Denali’s already tired after only an hour at De-Lux. That triple salchow that she just barely landed at the rink earlier tweaked something in her calf, and she’s since been hobbling around behind the bar trying to fulfill orders as quickly as her sore leg will let her. Unfortunately for her, it’s busier than usual — a few bachelorette parties, groups of college kids, older gays, all there to see Rosé later in the night.

Denali’s thought of Rosé more times that week than she’ll care to admit. Something about the way she talks, the way her lips turn up into a smirk or the way her eyes appraise Denali at every move — it’s all unforgettable. Every time she slips into a Rosé-tinted reverie, however, the image of her with that blonde pops into her head; and then she thinks of every other time she’s seen Rosé hitting on a coworker or dancing with a different woman.

It doesn’t matter how much Rosé’s gaze makes her feel like the only woman in the room — that’s exactly what Rosé wants her to think, and what she wants every _other_ woman in the room to think, too.

 _Don’t fuck with fuckboys_ , Denali thinks to herself for the hundredth time.

She spills alcohol on her jeans while filling an order for gin and tonic, and she doesn’t have time to try and towel it off before another person slides into a bar seat a few people away. Denali heads to the new person while trying to flick gin droplets off her fingers, and when she looks at the person she’s about to serve, her heart skips not one, but _two_ beats.

Rosé taps her fingers on the bar almost impatiently, and she stares just to the left of Denali, like she’s irritated. As soon as she sees Denali, though, she shifts in her chair and turns on that cocky grin of hers that makes Denali’s spine tingle. All of a sudden, the ache in Denali’s calf disappears.

“Hey, ‘Nali.” Rosé lifts her fingers off the bar slightly in greeting, and Denali can’t help but notice.

Denali bites her cheek. “Don’t call me that.”

“Okay.” Rosé purses her lips to keep her smile from growing. “Could I get my usual?”

“You don’t have a usual,” Denali says, and she doesn’t try to hold back her eye roll. Down the bar, her coworker Joey is idly waiting for people to serve. Denali considers asking him to take over for her, just so she doesn’t have to deal with this again.

“Come on.” Rosé leans forward, and Denali notices her loose button-down, buttoned to the base of her chest only. Denali swallows and looks away. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Denali isn’t sure if Rosé seriously thinks she’s this important, or if she’s just playing with her, but either way it’s pissing her off. So, she sends Rosé a fake smile and turns away to get a glass. She scoops ice from one of the ice bins and pulls out the soda gun. Once the glass is filled to the brim, she turns around and sets it in front of Rosé.

Rosé inspects the glass like it’s a bomb. “What the hell is this?”

“The usual.” Denali gestures towards the glass. “Water.”

“I was talking about a Scotch.”

“Well, I serve a lot of people, I can’t really remember everyone’s order,” Denali says. She clears the newly-opened space next to Rosé of its glasses, putting them on the dirty rack. “Besides, you’re on in twenty minutes. You shouldn’t drink before your set.”

Rosé’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want you falling off the stage. You’d land heavy.” Denali starts cleaning the cocktail shakers to hide her own smile.

“What can I say?” Rosé shrugs. “I’m thick.”

Denali sets the shaker to the side to dry. “Oh, you thought I was talking about your ass?” She huffs a laugh. “Baby, your head is so big it’d be the first thing to hit the floor.”

Rosé narrows her eyes at Denali, and at first it’s a glare, but then it turns into something else. Denali is transfixed. She watches Rosé eye her again like she’s seeing something brand new. Her lips purse, and Denali notices how good they look in a deep purple shade of lipstick.

_Don’t fuck with fuckboys._

“All right, Miss Denali, you know how to read,” Rosé says. She leans back in her chair, eyes still on Denali, and brings the glass of water to her lips. Denali sees the bob of her throat as she drinks and she has to look away. “Hey, what time—”

A glass shatters a few feet away, and Denali’s head whips towards the sound.

“Shit,” Joey mutters, stooping over the broken martini glass. “Denali, could you help me?”

Denali gets a towel and starts for the broom and dust pan, but she pauses before she goes and turns to Rosé. “Give me a second.”

Rosé nods.

On her way to the mess, Denali curses herself. She can’t _fucking_ believe that she’s doing whatever she’s doing with Rosé. It’s not flirting — no, she’d _never_ let herself flirt with a fuckboy, absolutely not. She has more self control than that. She apparently doesn’t have enough self control, however, to stop herself from playing into Rosé’s game. As she scoops shards of glass into the dust pan, she replays the conversation over and over in her head, trying to spot where she went wrong.

But that’s the thing — she _didn’t_ try to flirt with Rosé. It isn’t her fault that Rosé takes insults as some kind of twisted complement. Yep, yeah. Totally all Rosé.

They clean up the glass quickly and without incident, and Denali takes a moment to wash her hands and steady her resolve before going back to Rosé. When she gets there, Rosé is on her phone, once again tapping her fingers on the bar. She doesn’t notice Denali this time, so Denali leans forward on the bar.

“What were you saying?” Denali asks.

Rosé looks up and locks her phone quickly, tucking it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Oh, uh, yeah, I was about to ask what time you get off work tonight.”

The blood in Denali’s veins turns to ice. She grits her teeth before answering, “Closing time, same as usual.”

She knows where this is going, and she’s not happy about it. She can hear her heart thrumming in her ears, ready to burst with anger and annoyance.

Rosé, oblivious to Denali’s anger, just smiles. “Are you doing anything after?”

Denali stares at Rosé for a moment and wishes that she had never asked the question in the first place. She doesn’t want to deal with Rosé’s stupid face or her stupid smirk, her stupid hazel eyes that look prettier the longer Denali looks at them. She doesn’t want Rosé to ask her out because she knows it’s nowhere near genuine; she’s just trying to get her fix of ego-boosting affection, and she can get it from any other girl in the bar. Denali’s not letting Rosé use her.

“I’m not interested, Rosé.”

Rosé has the audacity to look surprised, as though she’s never been turned down before. It makes Denali sick to her stomach. Rosé opens her mouth to speak and then closes it again, pursing her lips instead. She studies Denali for a moment more.

“Okay,” Rosé says. She gives Denali a weak half-smile, finishes her glass of water in one go, and then walks away.

Denali runs on autopilot for the next hour. Rosé’s set starts, she plays a few songs, and then gives her last song before her fifteen minute break. Denali is barely aware that she’s stopped singing until she hears her talking.

“Head to the bar and get some refills while I’m gone,” Rosé says from the stage, setting her microphone on the stand. “Oh, and don’t forget to tip your lovely bartenders.”

Denali fights every part of her body that wants to look up, just to see if Rosé is looking at her. Instead, she prepares for the onslaught of customers, already fully drunk, heading towards the bar to get shots, cocktails, and (hopefully) water. At this point, Denali and Joey can’t keep up if they want to get everyone their drinks by the time Rosé gets back to the stage, so Olivia comes out from the back to help.

“Catch,” Olivia says, tossing Denali a lime to slice. Denali catches it and slices it quickly, just barely missing her fingertip with the sharp edge of the short knife. Olivia fills three glasses and carries them over to the bar top to add the lime. “Thanks.” She puts the slices on the edges of the glasses and looks at Denali. “So, I saw you talking to Rosé…”

Denali slams the knife on the cutting board and grabs one of the drinks. “Not this again.”

Olivia follows her with the other two drinks, and they send them with their owners. Denali heads back to the liquor to fill two more orders with Olivia on her tail.

“I’m just bringing it up because I noticed and—”

“We’re a little too busy for this, Liv,” Denali says. She has a bottle of vodka in one hand and a bottle of tequila in the other, and she fills a row of shots with each.

Across the club, one of the band members shreds a guitar, causing the patrons standing near the stage to erupt in applause. The rest of the people at the bar, realizing that Rosé is about to return, run back towards the stage, most of their drink orders forgotten. Denali takes the rows of shots and deposits them on the bar, collects her money before that group joins the crowd on the dance floor. Before Denali even turns back around, Olivia is at her side and peering at the stage as Rosé struts to the microphone.

“You smile different when you’re talking to someone you like.”

Denali lets out a huff. “I don’t like Rosé. In fact, I strongly _dislike_ her.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Olivia says, and Denali tries not to think about how she actually _doesn’t_ sleep at night anymore. Olivia raises her eyebrow at Denali and leans closer to her as the music starts and Rosé’s voice cuts through the building. “She definitely likes you, though.”

Denali doesn’t have a chance to respond before Olivia sends Denali a wink and stalks off.She glances up at the stage and is more than a little disappointed that Rosé isn’t looking at her while she sings.

The set doesn’t last much longer, and Denali tries to keep Rosé out of her mind — a literal impossible task, since she’s on the stage belting out the words to some song Denali thinks she’s heard before. She busies herself when Rosé comes off the stage, leaving Joey to get her a drink. The bar is only so long, however, and Denali hears when Rosé strikes up a conversation with the woman beside her. Joey’s working on three orders, and he fills a glass with a screwdriver before handing it to Denali.

“Could you take this to the girl with the dreads, over there?” he asks, and Denali nods before realizing that it’s _her_ , the girl that Rosé is currently undressing with her eyes.

It’s too late now. Denali falters on a step and blames it on her still-aching calf, keeps going until she’s in front of the gorgeous woman. She doesn’t even register that Denali is there, just continues talking and tosses a lock of hair over her shoulder. Her fingers are tattooed intricately. Denali puts the drink down and looks away, a bitter taste burning in the back of her mouth.

“Oh, shit, hold on,” the woman says, and she finally looks at Denali before taking a wad of cash out of her bra.

Rosé puts her hand over the woman’s, covering a few trails of ink. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on me.” She looks up at Denali for a moment and nods like she’s expecting Denali to understand. Denali just clenches her jaw and walks away.

“Fucking _why_ ,” Denali whispers to herself. It’s the only thing going through her mind when she tells Joey she’s going on break and goes straight through the alley door in the back.

The air is chilly and it stings Denali’s skin pleasantly, reminding her of every time she steps onto the ice. She’d kill to have a pair of skates and a smooth, glassy surface to glide over right now. Her body itches to move, to run down the street, to twirl in the air — she needs to do _something_ to get this overwhelming feeling out of her body. The worst part of it is that she doesn’t know what the feeling _is_.

She doesn’t like Rosé. Denali doesn’t like her at all, actually, which is why it’s so perplexing that everything she seems to do gets under her skin. Of course Rosé’s going to pick up a stunning woman at the club — she’s young, hot, confident. Too confident, Denali thinks, which is why she’s so angry with her. But what’s most frustrating is that Rosé flirts with Denali one minute and picks up another woman right in front of her the next. To expect Denali to just ignore that would be naive.

It starts spitting with rain, and for fear that her dark hair will start to frizz, Denali goes back inside. She takes another breath, massages her temples, and heads to the bar. Everyone is mostly dancing and few people are at the bar, which Denali appreciates. She can’t focus enough to serve more customers. Instead, she busies herself with tidying the place in the interim. She tries to keep her eyes away from the dance floor — she doesn’t have the energy to analyze why she’s even looking there in the first place — but she can’t stop herself from catching glimpses of Rosé and her woman dancing together, Rosé’s hands over her hips, the woman’s ass against her front.

After nearly an hour, Denali has somehow run out of glasses to clean and spaces wipe up. She loves her job, she really does, but she’s had two terrible weekends and she just wants to go home and stay in bed until her next skating lesson on Monday. She’s massaging her calf and considering dropping her Saturday night shift when none other than Rosé slides into an empty barstool. She looks considerably more disheveled than she did earlier — pink curls fall loosely from their updo and stick to her forehead with sweat, and her shirt has opened by two more buttons to reveal an amount of cleavage that borders on public nudity. A tang of jealously rises in Denali’s throat.

“Need something?” Denali asks absently, picking at a fingernail to distract herself from Rosé’s breasts.

“The usual.” Rosé winks, and for the first time, it’s not douchey.

Denali nods and her head starts to get fuzzy. _They have an inside joke._

She gets a glass and fills it with ice water, placing it on the bar in front of Rosé. This time, she snatches it from the granite and chugs it. Denali leans her elbows on the bar. “You look tired.”

Rosé places the now-empty glass on the bar. “Rude.”

“It’s the truth.” Denali shrugs and nods her head towards the woman waiting for Rosé at the edge of the dance floor. “At least you’re having fun.”

“Yeah.”

Rosé clears her throat. Denali expects her to turn around and look, or even to leave the bar, but she doesn’t — she keeps her eyes on Denali. It sends shivers down her spine.

“I’ll get you another.” Denali grabs Rosé’s glass and the soda gun and turns around so she doesn’t have to look at Rosé looking at her. There’s only so long that she can delay it, though, and when she finally turns around, she finds Rosé still _staring_.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Rosé says, almost without knowing she said it. Denali stops, and the words register in Rosé. Her eyes go wide, and she finally looks away. “Shit, sorry. I shouldn’t have— I’m pretty drunk. Could I have that water?”

Denali’s mouth is dry. “Sure.” She puts the glass on the counter.

Rosé grabs the glass and slides less-than-gracefully off of the bar stool. “Thanks.”

In a moment, she’s gone. Denali feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. She finishes cleaning up the bar early and tells Olivia she doesn’t feel well, calls off for Saturday, and goes home.

* * *

The skating rink is busiest on Wednesdays — after-school hockey practice at four is followed by two hours for figure skating lessons, and the reduced-rate open-skate starts at seven-fifteen. Denali caught the end of hockey practice and was able to jump on the ice by herself for a few minutes before the zamboni came out to resurface. She gave two junior lessons during the figure skating time. Now, it’s seven-thirty, and she’s among the crowd of amateurs skating counter-clockwise on beaten-up ice.

Open-skates tend to be relatively chaotic, due to the immense range of experience on the ice. There’s families of first-time skaters with children slipping over the ice; there’s pairs of high schoolers on dates, desperately clinging to each other to keep from falling; then, there’s Denali. Her blades ripple over the grooves in the ice as she picks up speed, flying past the other skaters. She gravitates towards the inner part of the circle as much as she can, and this allows her to twizzle, glide across the ice on her knees, and do a small split-jump.

Denali switches from skating forwards to backwards, strands of her hair flying past her face in front of her. She sees an opening to leave the crowd completely and go to the center, an opportunity that she takes immediately. She doesn’t do this often — it’s distracting to other people — but she always feels like she’s center-stage at a competition when she does. Denali heads to the center speedily, kicks her foot back, catches her toe pick on the ice, and twirls into a triple lutz. Her landing is good but wouldn’t earn her full points in a real competition. Her calf, still sore from the weekend, starts to tingle with pain. She stops at center-ice, puts her hands on her knees and takes a breath.

Someone on the ice squeals loud enough that it echoes over the other voices, and Denali looks towards the source. The door to the bleachers is open, and Denali spots a mop of purple hair, followed by someone with blue hair, and then—

“Oh, fuck,” she whispers.

Wobbling onto the ice is pink-haired Rosé, seeming to match the other two women with their wild dye jobs. The three of them wiggle over the ice and weave between skaters. Denali is about to move so Rosé doesn’t see her, but she’s too late — there’s a gap in the circle, and _of_ _course_ she’s standing directly in the middle of the ice. Rosé stops for a moment to wave, and she’s almost barreled into by some boys in hockey skates. She starts to lose balance, then uses her momentum to start for the center of the ice. The crowd is thick between them, and the image of Rosé getting trampled flashes before her eyes, so she takes pity on her and skates through a gap to meet her near the boards.

“Hey!” Rosé calls as she gets closer. Her voice is so friendly and _warm_ that Denali thinks it may melt the ice. Based on her wide smile, it’s apparent to Denali that their last horribly awkward interaction is forgotten. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Denali skids to a quick stop right in front of Rosé. “Congrats, you’ve found my super secret day-job.”

“Wait, you work here?”

“Yep.” When Rosé still looks perplexed, Denali laughs. “I’m a professional figure skater. I give lessons here through the week.”

“Well, shit, she’s the real deal,” Rosé says. “What the hell are you doing working in a nightclub, then?”

Denali shrugs. “Olivia’s my best friend, I love working for her, and it’s supplemental income— you get it, you’re a starving artist.”

Rosé gives a full-bodied laugh, and it makes Denali smile. “At least we’re doing what we love, right?” Denali nods and gives a little spin. “Alright, show-off. Don’t get too cocky.”

“Cocky?” Denali slams her skate down and stops. “ _You_ wanna talk about cocky?”

“Shut up.” Rosé blushes — _really!_ — and she pushes off with one skate. She tries to go around Denali and join the flow of skaters, but she’s unsteady on her feet and nearly stumbles. She flails, too far from the boards to catch herself, and she looks like she’s going down before Denali grabs her arm with two hands and holds her up.

“I got you,” Denali says. One hand is around Rosé’s bicep, the other on her wrist, and she can feel Rosé’s pulse quicken beneath her fingers. Rosé sends her a thankful smile and together they stand upright again. Denali pushes off with her own skate and guides Rosé to do the same so that they gently move down the boards. “What brings you to the rink, anyway?”

Rosé looks over her shoulder and points behind them. “I’m here with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb back there.”

Denali looks with her and spots the purple- and blue-haired girls fumbling over each other. “Does that make you Tweedle-Dope?” She looks at Rosé and gives her an earnest smile, sending Rosé into laughter.

“Yep, that’s me.”

Rosé wobbles and Denali’s hand slides into Rosé’s palm to help her balance. They skate on.

In a few moments, the other girls’ laughter grows closer to them — it’s somehow still louder than all the other conversations going on.

“Holy shit, Lagoona,” Denali hears from behind them, “look at Rosie.”

Rosé hears, too, and she turns around, suddenly yanking her arm from Denali’s. Denali looks back. The purple-haired one is slowing to a stop and grinning at her and Rosé, while the other one — Lagoona — skates behind her.

“Jan— fuck, I don’t know how to stop!” Lagoona shouts. She throws her arms in front of her and flails them, willing herself to stop, but it obviously doesn’t work. She barrels into Jan, which sends both of them gliding forward on unsteady feet. Lagoona’s holding onto Jan’s waist, Jan’s falling forward, and then, right before Denali’s eyes, they tackle Rosé and all fall to the ground in a heap. Denali hides her laughter behind her hand and starts the process of extracting them from the ice.

“My ass hurts,” Lagoona says, shifting on the bleachers so she can sit on her ice pack.

Rosé lifts her head from Jan’s lap and twists to stare up at her. “This is your fault, ‘Goona, you don’t get to complain.” She returns her head to Jan’s knees and presses her fingers to her forehead.

“We barely even got to skate,” Jan whines. Open-skate is almost over, and families hobble off the ice and past them to the lobby.

Denali smiles. “I could take you back out there for the last fifteen.”

“No!” Lagoona and Rosé shout in unison, and Denali laughs, causing the ice pack she’s holding on Rosé’s shoulder to shift.

Rosé glares at her and snatches it away to hold it in place herself. “I think I have a concussion.”

“You don’t have a concussion,” Denali says, “don’t be a crybaby.”

“How do you know?” Rosé’s bottom lip juts out in an adorable little pout, which Denali absolutely, positively does _not_ want to kiss away.

Instead, she gently pokes Rosé’s forehead. “I watched you fall, you didn’t hit your head.”

Rosé just grumbles.

Jan huffs and pushes Rosé’s head off of her knees. “Thank you for helping us, Denali. Sorry if we interrupted your skating time.”

“That’s alright.” Denali turns and smiles up at Jan on the bleacher above her. “I’m on the ice seven days a week already.”

“You must be really good, then,” Lagoona says.

Jan nods her agreement. “I’d love to watch you skate.”

“Can you do those spin-jump things?” Rosé asks, and Jan and Lagoona roll their eyes at her.

Denali just laughs. “Yeah, I can do those.”

Jan points to the ice, where only a few people are still skating around. There’s five minutes left for open-skate. “It’s pretty open out there. Wanna give us a performance?”

“Uh…” Denali’s heart starts to pound. Sure, she’s a professional skater, but these days “performances” are reserved for her teenage students and the zamboni guy — not for a flirty fuckboy and her friends. “There’s no music.”

“We’ll sing for you!” Jan says. She’s practically bouncing on the bleacher and it rattles Lagoona beside her, who puts a hand on her shoulder to still her.

Denali looks at Rosé, who shrugs. “I’d be honored to skate to a live performance by Stephanie’s Child.” Denali pushes up from the bleachers and goes down the steps, taking her blade covers off when she gets to the rubber mat and tossing them on a bench.

When she steps on the ice, Lagoona, Jan, and Rosé scramble to the door and crowd around it to sing. She hears them talking, but she puts their words out of her mind as she skates a few quick circles around the rink to warm up. She’s not sure what kind of vibe they’re going to pick for the song, but she has a few signature moves that she’ll use no matter what.

Denali’s ready after a few moments and she stops in the middle of the ice. She looks at the trio and nods to let them know she’s ready, then bows her head in a starting position. To her surprise, Jan starts them off into a rendition of “Landslide.” Denali pushes off on one foot and begins by kicking her leg into the air and spinning. She keeps her movements fluid, spinning and activating her arms, dipping her shoulders. Rosé takes the next verse, and Denali can’t help but harness the power of her voice. She leaps into the air.

Lagoona’s deeper voice leads them into the chorus. Denali starts forward and slides over the ice before hopping up smoothly, then opens into a single toe-loop. The trio does a beautiful split and Denali twists and turns through it, and then the sound builds to the next chorus. She picks up her speed while skating backwards, flicks her foot into the air and drops it to the ice so her toe digs into the ice, and throws a triple axle. Before the chorus is over, she does it again, this time maneuvering into a backflip.

The women have been singing in unison, but Denali hears Rosé stop singing and a “Holy shit!” comes from that part of the rink. Denali ends the song by leaping into a spin that starts high but ends down low. She slides onto her knees as Rosé, Lagoona, and Jan bring the song to a close. Slowly, Denali raises her head, and the first thing she sees is Rosé, jaw dropped and staring at Denali. She swallows thickly and tries to ignore a tingling in her chest as she gets up from the ice.

Jan is jumping up and down — well, as best she can in her skates — and Lagoona is applauding her. Denali skates over and sprays shaved ice when she stops, which brings her directly in front of Rosé.

“That was _fucking_ insane,” Lagoona says.

Jan nods. “Thank you so much for that. You are amazing.”

“Wow, I really appreciate it.” Denali lets out a breath to try and slow her heart rate. “You guys are amazing singers— I mean, I knew Rosé could hold a note, but the three of you are fantastic together. You should do a gig at the club sometime.”

“We’re on a break,” Rosé says quickly, “working on solo stuff, you know.”

“Rosie’s just worried if we perform there the girls will start falling for _us_ instead of _her._ ” Lagoona claps a hand on Rosé’s shoulder, and Rosé grumbles and shrinks away from it.

Denali’s heart sinks. _The girls_. Right.

She feels an ache in her calf and starts to shake out her leg. “Do you mind if I…” Denali points to the exit that the three of them are currently blocking, and Jan and Lagoona start to move away.

“No, sorry, I’m in the— here, let me help you.” Rosé holds out her hands and gently takes Denali’s own before Denali can even say anything. She guides her towards the rubber mat as Denali steps over the edge of the ice.

For a moment, Rosé doesn’t let go of Denali’s hands, and Denali doesn’t let go of Rosé’s. Every brain cell is telling her to just take her hands away, but her muscles won’t move. She looks at their hands, notices the details of the tattooed numbers on Rosé’s fingers. Then, she looks up and sees Rosé’s pretty hazel eyes staring at her, just as they have been since she performed.

“Well, I think it’s time for ‘Goona and I to peace out,” Jan says, and her words seem to remind Rosé that they’re not alone. She drops Denali’s hands, but keeps looking at her. “It was so nice meeting you, Denali.”

Denali looks at the two retreating women over Rosé’s shoulder. “It was great to meet you both.”

“Goodnight! See ya, Rosie!” Lagoona calls while Jan pushes her through the double doors and into the lobby.

It’s just Denali and Rosé in the rink, now, and the cold air makes Denali feel like she’s pressed right up against Rosé.

“They were nice,” Denali says.

Rosé huffs a little laugh. “You haven’t had the full Jantasy or Lagoona Bloo Experience, yet. I love them, but they’re a little insane.”

They’re quiet for another moment. Denali notices Rosé’s chest rising and falling quickly, sees the tiniest step forward that Rosé takes.

“I, uh, gotta get these skates off,” Denali practically whispers.

Rosé nods. “Of course.”

Neither of them move. Denali feels like she’s going insane — her entire body is split, cells fighting cells, torn between doing the smart thing and giving in to whatever impulses are keeping her in Rosé’s orbit. Finally, she decides on a compromise, taking Rosé by the arm and leading her into the locker room. It smells of ice and sweat, and it clears Denali’s head. She pulls her bag out of her locker and lifts one leg onto the bench to start untying her skate. Rosé plops on the bench beside her unceremoniously and switches back to her own shoes.

 _Don’t fuck with fuckboys. Don’t fuck with fuckboys. Don’t fuck with_ —

“Is the snack-stand food any good?” Rosé asks suddenly. Denali nearly jumps from the force with which she’s ripped out of her thoughts.

“I think it’s closed.” She takes off both her skates and stretches her toes, then sends Rosé an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

Rosé shrugs. “That’s alright, I’m just starving. All that skating took it out of me.”

“You mean the ten minutes of skating before you wiped out?”

“Hey, that was Lagoona’s fault,” Rosé says with a fake glare.

Denali laughs and steps into a pair of beat-up tennis shoes. She puts her skates in her bag. “I know a place nearby that’s quick and open late. Wanna grab something to eat there?”

Rosé looks at her like she’s joking before blinking and nodding. “Yes, yeah. Sure.” She stands up, takes Denali’s bag, and before she can argue, Rosé heads for the door. When she realizes Denali hasn’t moved, she turns around. “You coming?”

Denali bites her lip to keep from smiling and nods.

They’re walking down the street, having just left the bodega with their food, and Denali isn’t sure where they’re going — she’s not sure she cares, either. She takes a bite of her bagel sandwich.

“I can’t believe you grew up in Scotland.”

Beside her, Rosé stops and runs a hand over her body faux-seductively. “Feast yer eyes on this bonnie lass,” she says in a thick Scottish accent.

Denali has to cover her mouth to keep from laughing obnoxiously loud. “More like that bony ass.” Rosé reaches out to smack her, but she dodges out of the way, nearly knocking a man over in the process. “Too bad you didn’t keep your accent. You’re pretty boring without it.”

“Well, sorry we can’t all be professional figure skaters from Alaska.” Rosé chews on her own sandwich, and they walk in a comfortable silence for a few moments. “How’d you end up in New York, anyway?”

“I was in Salt Lake City for a while, you know, competing and training with other skaters. That’s where I went to college,” Denali says. She stares at her food as she walks. “After I realized I’d never go to the Olympics, I started touring. I did Disney on Ice, cruise ships—”

“Holy shit, you skated on a boat?”

Denali nods. “I went all over the world with skating. I met Olivia on one of my last ships— she wanted to travel, too, but she ended up hating sea life. She asked me to come to New York when my contract was over, but by that point I was with Lauren.”

“Who’s Lauren?” Rosé asks around a mouthful of food.

“My ex.” Denali takes a bite of her sandwich and chews for a few moments. She doesn’t want to rush into _this_ particular part of the story. “Lauren had been on the ship with me for a year and we were pretty serious, I guess. She had friends in Chicago she wanted to go back to, so when our contract was up, that’s where we went.”

Rosé nods understandingly. “It didn’t work out?”

“She cheated on me,” Denali says, keeping her eyes away from Rosé. “Olivia told me she was opening a club and I just… flew here. Crashed on her couch for a little until I figured things out.” Denali takes the last bite of her sandwich. “So, now that you know _my_ relationship horror story, what about yours?”

Rosé scoffs. “I don’t have any.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m serious!” Rosé puts her hands up in surrender when Denali narrows her eyes. “I mean, I dated an older girl in college for a few years, when she graduated it became an open relationship until it just sort of fizzled out, and since then it’s just been casual stuff.”

Denali stares at her and deadpans, “Shocking.”

“Fuck you,” Rosé says with a huge smile. Denali swears she sees a blush on her cheeks. She’s quiet for a minute. “Anyway, you made the right choice coming here. New York is the greatest place in the world— especially since I’m here.”

Denali shakes her head. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“What can I say?” Rosé gives her signature smirk. “I _am_ the moment.”

“Jesus.”

They stop at the end of the street where there’s a line of garbage cans and throw away their trash. Rosé looks up at the street signs, then brushes her hands on her pants and looks around. Denali thinks she looks nervous — but this is Rosé, and Denali is sure she’s never been nervous in her life.

“So my apartment isn’t too far,” Rosé says, rocking from her toes to her heels. “Would you, maybe, want to come up?”

This again. Denali’s stomach drops, and this time it’s not even from anger. She’s had… a _good_ night with Rosé. She won’t deny that spending time with her, talking with her, even meeting her friends has been surprisingly pleasant. A little voice in her head is telling her to just do it, to _try_ it.

“I’m sorry.” Denali flicks her gaze away, but then looks back at Rosé’s eyes, how they were once sparkling but are now dull. “I’m still not interested.”

Denali doesn’t mind whatever this rapport is that they’ve built, but she just _can’t_ let go of what little control she has over herself. She doesn’t want to be just another name on Rosé’s list.

Rosé’s entire demeanor seems to drop. “Oh. I just thought—”

“Tonight was fun. I really like talking to you, but I can’t.” Denali looks away and shakes her head. “I’ll see you Friday.”

She walks away without looking back.

* * *

Denali couldn’t decide if she was excited for work or dreading it. She’s still trying to figure it out even as she steps into the club and goes straight to the bar. Her mind can’t seem to stop jumping through all the different interactions she’s had with Rosé, even as she sets up the bar, even as the lights go out, even as the first patrons walk in and order drinks. She’s spent the last two days trying to sort out all of the complicated feelings she’s been having, and it lead her to almost texting Olivia for advice — which she didn’t do to spare herself from the inevitable teasing she’d get from her.

Rosé gets there surprisingly early, and Denali notices her as soon as she walks in. Her jacket is green leather and covered in plaid, silver studs, and graffiti — Denali could spot it a mile away — and her pink curls spill over it beautifully. She goes straight for the bar, eyes on Denali, and she leans over the granite countertop with a big grin.

“If it isn’t my favorite bartender,” she says.

Denali smirks. “If it isn’t my least favorite member of Stephanie’s Child.” She gets out a glass and starts filling it with water. “How are Jan and Lagoona?”

“Annoying. They won’t stop asking about you.” Rosé doesn’t even look at the water before picking it up and taking a sip, and it makes something in Denali’s chest feel like it’s going to explode.

_When did things with Rosé become this normal?_

“I’m glad I was memorable,” Denali says. “They seem like a good time. Maybe I can hang out with them next Friday instead of you.”

Rosé rolls her eyes. “I’ll let them know you’re interested. In the meantime I’ll just drink my—” She takes a sip from the glass. “I’ll drink my water, all alone, by myself, just being lonely.”

“Fine, you can come, too.” Denali bites her lip to keep from smiling, but she can’t help the smile she feels inside.

“Wow!” Rosé puts a hand on her heart. “ _The_ Denali Foxx wants to spend time with little old _me_? Who would’ve thought?”

“Shut up.”

Rosé shrugs. “I mean, the last two times I’ve wanted to hang out with you, you’ve barely even let me get to the asking part, but here you are inviting me. You know what that’s called?” She puts her hand up, fingers together, and then spreads them apart like a blooming flower. “Growth.”

“You’re an idiot,” Denali says with a roll of her eyes.

Before Rosé can respond, Denali spots Olivia out of the corner of her eye. She’s walking towards them with a shit-eating grin on her face. Denali wants to smack herself for not noticing Olivia earlier and braces herself for the teasing she’s bound to get.

“Hey, ladies.” Olivia stands hip-to-hip with Denali and leans on the bar. “Rosé, I see you’re distracting my best bartender.”

Rosé takes another sip of water and shakes her head. “Actually, she’s distracting me from my pre-show routine. You should make her clean the puke from the bathroom floor as punishment.”

“Congratulations, you’re officially uninvited from the Stephanie’s Child hangout,” Denali says.

“Do you see how rude she is?” Rosé asks Olivia, and they laugh while Olivia bumps Denali’s hip. Denali rolls her eyes and moves away to start cleaning glasses. “Anyway, thanks for booking me on such late notice.”

“It’s no problem. You know I’ll always make time in the schedule for you.”

Denali’s brow furrows — she thought Rosé was already booked weekly. She doesn’t get the chance to ask about it because someone comes up to the bar. She fills their margarita order and, when she’s done, Olivia is gone. Rosé sits alone at the bar playing absently with the droplets on her glass of water.

“Hey, Denali.” Rosé nods to her in summons.

Denali finishes putting cash in the register and returns to the space in front of Rosé. “What’s up?”

“I was serious, you know,” Rosé says, “about spending time with you.”

Denali swallows thickly. She opens her mouth to speak, but a short brunette slides up to the bar beside Rosé and stands a little too close to her.

“Rosé! I thought I’d see you here tonight.”

It’s like a switch flips in Rosé. She leans on the bar so she’s fully facing the brunette and puts on her smirk. “Hey, Mik, it’s been a while.”

“I had a shoot in LA, so I was over there for a few weeks,” Mik says, leaning even closer to Rosé. “You look great.

Denali isn’t even sure why she’s still listening. She’s moved away from them somewhat and she’s pretending to dry a glass, though she can’t help but stare at Rosé’s face, the way her eyes are only on Mik and how she isn’t shying away from her proximity.

Rosé gives Mik another full look. “So do you, baby.”

“I’m excited to see you perform again.” Mik puts her hand on Rosé’s arm and squeezes. “I’ll see you on the dance floor after?”

Rosé nods. “Sure.”

Denali _fucking_ loses it. She puts the glass down and tosses her towel towards the bar, not caring if she draws the attention of Rosé or Mik or any other person at the bar. Joey just barely steps out of the way as she thunders past him and towards the back door. She hears Rosé call out to her, far away at first and then right behind her once she steps out onto the alley pavement. Denali runs her hands through her hair and kicks an empty beer bottle down the alley.

“Denali,” Rosé says, coming up right behind her, “look, that wasn’t anything—”

Denali whips around. “No, _this_ isn’t anything.” She gestures between them. Rosé’s brow furrows in confusion, and it frustrates Denali even more. “I don’t want your excuses or whatever bullshit you were about to say. You don’t owe me anything, I don’t owe you anything, okay? So don’t worry about it.”

Rosé holds out her hands. “You’re obviously upset about what happened, and I want to explain that she’s just someone I know, I’m not interested in her.”

“Right.” Denali laughs cruelly. “Like you’re not into every other girl you flirt with or dance with or go home with every _fucking weekend_.”

Rosé opens her mouth to respond but closes it immediately. Her jaw muscles flex.

Denali shakes her head and continues. “I don’t know what you think we’ve been doing, but I thought I’ve made it clear that I’m not interested. I don’t want to be just another woman you’ve fucked.”

It’s silent for a minute, except for sirens that wail in the distance and a plane that flies overhead. Rosé’s face gets harder, more tense by the second, until she balls her fists and glares at Denali.

“You’re not just some conquest, Denali. I fucking like you, alright? I want to _know_ you, but every time I feel like you’re opening up to me, you suddenly push me away because of this stupid idea you have about me,” Rosé says, her voice growing tighter with each word. “I like to have fun. I like to flirt and dance and, you’re right, I _don’t_ owe you anything because there’s nothing between us. But that’s only because you’re too scared to give me a chance.”

It’s Denali’s turn to be speechless. She just watches Rosé’s body language and learns what she looks like when she’s defeated — when she’s _sad_.

“If you’re really not into me, fine.” Rosé’s voice is quiet, now. “I’ll leave you alone. But if you feel that way because you think I’m a selfish piece of shit, then…” She takes a step towards the door to the club. “I don’t know.” She laughs, shakes her head. “Maybe I am.”

She turns away and yanks the door open, disappearing into the hot nightclub while Denali’s left in the cold. Denali takes a few steps to the building and leans back against the wall, stares at the sky. She’s not sure why she’s crying — but she supposes that it’s time for her to figure it out.

She stayed outside for Rosé’s set, only coming back in once she heard Rosé’s post-show sendoff. Denali may have to see Rosé dancing with that Mik girl, but at least she doesn’t have to hear her voice.

Joey looks overwhelmed when she gets back, but he doesn’t say anything. Denali just resumes work beside him, fills beers and martinis and screwdrivers until her hands are sticky with alcohol and the pain in her chest has turned to an ache. She looks towards the dance floor and searches for a glimpse of pink hair or that shining leather jacket, just to give herself one last reason for staying away from Rosé. She doesn’t find her, but she does see Olivia at the corner of the bar, and she calls her over.

“You feeling okay?” Olivia asks.

Denali knows she won’t pry, not now that she’s skipped out on at least an hour of work — so she just shrugs. “Hey, what did Rosé mean when she said you booked her last-minute?”

“Her contract ended last weekend, but she texted me late Wednesday night to ask if she could perform this weekend and sign on for a few more.” Olivia’s brow furrows. “Why?”

Wednesday night — after skating. Denali shakes her head and looks up, blinks a few times to push back the angry tears that are threatening to spill over her cheeks. She feels like a complete idiot.

“Is she still here?” Denali asks, ignoring Olivia’s question. Olivia shakes her head. “Then can I have her number?”

* * *

_Hey Rosé, it’s Denali. I just wanted to apologize. You’re right, I’ve been judging you and it’s not fair._

It’s nearly four in the morning, she’s in bed with the lights off — and it took Denali an hour to write that text. The blue bubble is too bright for her eyes, but she can’t stop staring at it and at the little _Delivered_ just below it. She closes Messages and flips through Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat, back to Instagram. Half an hour later, she checks the message again and sees Rosé read it ten minutes ago.

She falls asleep with her phone on her chest, and promptly wakes up when it buzzes at nine in the morning.

 _Don’t worry about it_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorryyyy this is so long but I wrote 4,000 words of smut so you're welcome I guess

The “Kandy Muse Birthday Planning Meeting” convened on Monday, at which point Kandy declared that she wanted it to be a disco theme and produced a document outlining everything they needed to do by Friday to make that happen. Olivia announced via social media that Friday would be a special disco night at De-Lux Nightclub, Symone sent song recommendations to the DJ, Utica helped everyone find outfits, and Tina coordinated the dinner reservations.

They end up at a fancy Thai restaurant that serves light but filling food — perfect for a night of dancing and drinking. Denali’s in a short dress dripping with silver discs that she’s trying to keep clean during the meal; Kandy’s in a red jumpsuit she made herself; Tina literally looks on fire in an orange-and-red fringe dress; Utica is in some mash up of an Elizabethan-bell-bottom jumpsuit; Symone is wearing an oversized white shirt with a pussy bow and shorts; and Olivia is killing it in a sparkly red dress and a blonde afro wig. They’ve already had a round of shots and margaritas by the time they finish dinner, and it’s evident who the lightweights are.

“So,” Utica begins with a little slur, leaning on the table just a bit too much, “are we finally going to meet Denali’s rockstar fling?”

Denali whips her head to Olivia beside her. “Really, Liv?”

“Sorry.” Olivia half-smiles and shifts away from Denali. “I couldn’t help it.”

“She’s not a fling,” Denali says, “and you gotta stop spilling my tea.”

Symone puts her hand on Denali’s shoulder. “Okay, let’s just pay the check and get to the club before y’all fight.”

“There’s no fighting on my birthday.” Kandy finishes off her margarita. “Let’s head out, bitches.”

The club is even more packed than usual — something about themed nights always gets the gays excited. They go straight past the line waiting outside the door and Olivia and Denali greet the bouncer at the front. He ushers them on without seeing their IDs. Kandy is the first to burst through the crowd and into the hot club.

“This is my song!” she shouts, and Denali isn’t even sure she knows what song it is, but it does have a fun beat. She leads them straight to the bar and wiggles her way through people to get to the counter. “Hey, Joey Jay.”

Joey’s eyes go wide for a second, but then he smiles. “What’s up, Kandy?”

“It’s my birthday, did you know?” Kandy asks. “Did you get me a present? It’s okay if you didn’t, you could just kiss me instead.”

Denali slides up beside Kandy and leans on the bar. “Quit harassing Joey while he’s on the clock.”

Joey shrugs and mixes a drink in the shaker. “Happy birthday. Here’s a marg on the house.”

Kandy squeals and takes the glass he pours for her, moving back so the other girls can get their drinks. Denali orders herself a vodka soda and shifts so Symone and Utica can order — and it’s then that she sees Rosé a few spaces down. It seems she got Olivia’s disco memo, since she’s wearing some shiny purple halter-top bodysuit with bell-bottoms. Her eyes are downcast, looking into her water glass, and her loose pink curls almost cover her face, but Tina laughs loudly at Kandy’s antics and it brings Rosé’s attention towards them. Towards Denali.

Denali sends her a small smile. Rosé nods.

Once they have their drinks, Olivia pushes them onto the dance floor. Denali has no choice but to down her drink as quickly as possible so she can have both hands to dance. They’re in the middle of the floor, and the DJ is playing some pop remix of Donna Summer’s “Bad Girls.” Denali twirls and moves her hips in the way she knows how. She dances on Olivia and Symone, and for a little bit, her shoulders ease without worrying about Rosé.

That is, until it’s time for her set. The entire club lights up with applause when Rosé spins onto the stage and takes the microphone. She foregoes an introduction and instead jumps straight into her first song, an original that Denali’s never heard her perform before. It’s fun, and Kandy pulls her to the center of their little group to dance. Denali sees Olivia whispering to Utica, but she can’t seem to care right now.

They go through Rosé’s set without stopping for drinks — Olivia has Joey deliver them some shots halfway through. Denali’s dancing harder than she ever has before, and she’s not sure if it’s because Tina and Kandy are egging her on or because she knows half the room is watching. She doesn’t even have to look at the stage to know Rosé is watching her, too; she feels those hazel eyes on her every dance move. It doesn’t hurt that she’s wearing a reflective silver dress and her friends are making more noise than anyone else in the club.

Rosé winds the set down and, for the first time, decides to talk. “I know this is disco night,” she says, “but I wanted to round this out with something a little more sexy.”

Denali turns away from her friends and slowly looks up to the stage, where Rosé’s nodding with the band. A heavy bass starts, then a synthetic tune joins in. It seems that half the club realizes all at once that she’s doing a cover of “Gimme What I Want” by Miley Cyrus.

When Rosé opens her mouth to sing, she locks eyes with Denali.

“ _Midnight and the moon is out_.”

Denali is frozen. Her friends dance along but suddenly someone notices where Rosé’s gaze is, and then they’re all whisper-shouting about her.

“ _Tonight, you came here, ‘cause you know what I need and no one likes to be alone._ ”

“Holy shit,” Tina says as though Denali can’t hear, “they’re gonna fuck.”

And Denali does hear, but she doesn’t register it. All she can focus on is Rosé, the bitter-sweet honey dripping from her voice and the words. She pictures it — the roughness of Rosé’s hands in contrast with her vocals, the nip of teeth scraping over her skin, the tickles from pink curls under her nose.

“ _Give it to me and nobody else, babe_.”

Rosé ends the song and her chest is heaving. She gives Denali one last, long stare. Denali has only just begun to learn the language of Rosé’s body, but she’s sure she knows what that look means, and it makes her shiver.

The next song is more disco and the girls keep dancing. Denali’s back is to the stage, her arms are in the air, and she’s not surprised when she sees Rosé parting the crowd in front of her. They lock eyes again. Denali continues to move her hips and lets her head fall back, mouth open in a sigh that turns into a smile when she feels a hand on her waist. She looks up, and there’s Rosé, balancing two shot glasses in one hand. She’s closer to Denali than she’s ever been before, and Denali can see how wide her pupils are. Denali takes one of the glasses from Rosé and throws back the shot, never breaking eye contact. Rosé does the same.

They don’t speak. Their movements are so natural it feels like they’ve done this millions of times before. Denali fits perfectly against Rosé’s body, and Rosé holds her like she was made to be in her arms. She grinds her ass against Rosé’s front and Rosé matches her beat for beat, running her hands over her hips and her stomach, just beneath her breasts. Denali reaches her hands back to tangle in Rosé’s curls and she tugs her lips to her neck. Rosé’s breath is hot beneath her ear and she pushes back against Rosé harder.

Two songs later, the DJ plays Beyoncé’s “Partition” and before Denali can grind into her more, Rosé spins her around. She wraps her arms around Denali’s waist and pulls her close, swaying their hips together in time with the bass. Denali’s hands smooth over Rosé’s chest and collarbones and wrap behind her neck. Their foreheads press together. Rosé juts her chin out, her lips barely a centimeter away from Denali’s — and that’s where they stay until Denali can’t stand it anymore and she closes her eyes and fits her lips against them.

Rosé’s kiss is like fire and tastes as sweet as her voice. She feels Rosé’s teeth nip at her bottom lip, and it sends sparks down Denali’s spine. She wraps her hand around the back of Rosé’s neck and pulls her closer, licks over the swell of Rosé’s top lip. At this point, she thinks Rosé is completely holding her up with two steady hands on her lower back, and if they keep going like this she won’t be able to walk.

She pulls her lips back, and Rosé chases them before opening her eyes. They’re both panting, but it’s not because they’ve been dancing.

“Fuck,” Rosé says, and Denali feels it against her skin more than she hears it.

She knows her friends are staring at them, have probably been squealing about them the whole time, but she doesn’t care. _Everything_ is Rosé — the music, the hands creeping lower on her back, and the heat she feels in her whole body. Rosé kisses her again, and it’s quick and rough. Denali’s nails scratch at Rosé’s scalp and she presses her chest against Rosé’s, letting her other hand slowly drift towards her breasts.

Rosé pulls away. “We should sober up.”

Denali casts her friends a quick glance, and they wave at her as Rosé tugs her out of the crowd and to the bar. There’s only one seat open on the end, and Rosé slides into it just as she always does and orders two waters. Denali fits herself against the barstool between Rosé’s open legs, leans closer to her than Mik did the weekend before, closer than any other woman she’s seen Rosé with. She ignores the smug smile Joey shoots her when he drops off their waters. They pick up their glasses in a toast, and together they maintain eye contact while they chug, laughing when they finish.

They look at each other for a moment, and once again Denali knows what Rosé wants — and, for what feels like the first time, Denali knows what she wants, as well. She runs her hand up Rosé’s arm to her shoulder, pulls her in with a hand on her cheek and kisses her.

“I liked the song,” Denali whispers when she pulls away from the kiss.

Rosé sips on the last of her water and signals to Joey for refills. “I… I want to take you home.”

Denali swallows. She presses as close as she can to Rosé without being in her lap and brings her lips to Rosé’s ear. “Please take me home.”

Rosé purses her lips, but it barely hides her smile. “Drink more water and I will.”

Denali isn’t sure if the cab ride or the elevator ride is more excruciating. She does know that the wait is well worth it when, as soon as the door shuts behind them, Rosé grabs her by the waist and kisses her. It has Denali fumbling for balance, and she clings onto Rosé as she takes a few steps backward. She feels the press of a cushion on the backs of her thighs and she puts a hand down to help herself sit on what she thinks is the arm of a sofa. When she’s balanced, she pulls Rosé even closer, so much that Rosé hooks a leg around her waist and rests it on the sofa behind her just to stay upright.

Denali is sober, but her head is spinning. Rosé’s hands grasp her shoulders, her cheeks, her hair, the fabric of her dress. Denali herself is grabbing at Rosé’s bodysuit. She fumbles for the clasp at the halter top and only gets one hook undone, so she pulls away from the kiss. Rosé looks at her for a moment — her lips are swollen and parted, her eyes are wide and staring at Denali, and it sends heat to Denali’s stomach. Then, Rosé dips her head and kisses Denali’s jaw and neck, her teeth grazing her skin. It’s better than she imagined.

“Shit,” Denali says on a sigh. She goes back to pulling at Rosé’s clothes. “Please, I want this off.”

Rosé sucks a hickey on Denali’s neck before she steps back and grins. She kicks off her shoes and plays with the halter clasp. “Come on, then.” She reaches out for Denali, and Denali takes her hand to be led through the dark apartment. Denali looks down, remembering how she was the one leading Rosé over the ice the last time they held hands like this.

Denali doesn’t even bother to look around Rosé’s room. She presses her front against Rosé’s back and tugs the last bit of clasp apart, then guides the fabric of her bodysuit down to her waist. Her fingers drag over Rosé’s soft stomach and land fully on her breasts. She holds them in her palms at first, pulling Rosé tighter against her, and then she slowly circles her nipples with her fingers. Rosé drops her head back on Denali’s shoulder and sighs.

She keeps going slow, and it starts to frustrate Rosé. Denali smiles at the way her forehead wrinkles and she whines, shifting her stance so her thighs squeeze together. When Denali pinches her nipple, Rosé’s hips jerk back involuntarily and she finally stands upright and takes a step away from Denali.

Rosé hooks her fingers in the bodysuit and pushes it down her hips just slightly, then looks over her shoulder. “Take your dress off.”

Denali rips her dress over her head, if only so she doesn’t miss Rosé slide her bodysuit the rest of the way down. And she’s happy about it, too, because Rosé wasn't wearing any underwear, her ass is now on full view and Denali can’t stop thinking about how _hot_ she is. Rosé sits on the edge of the bed and leans back on her hands, looking at Denali with a smirk. Denali looks at herself, too, for a moment, then runs a finger over the lacy band of her black bralette.

“Come here,” Rosé says quietly.

Denali has never lacked confidence — she spent so much time building it for skating that it comes naturally to her, and this moment is no exception, even with Rosé’s eyes on her half-naked skin. She takes slow steps towards the bed and puts her hands gently on Rosé’s shoulders. Rosé’s eyes are wide, and they flick from Denali’s face to her chest, then settle on her hips when Denali straddles her lap. Rosé grabs her hips, fingers sliding over her matched black lace thong, but she doesn’t make another move.

Denali smirks above her. “See something you like?”

“A lot of things.” Rosé hooks a finger in the band of the thong and stretches it so it snaps onto Denali’s hip. “I like this.” She slides her hands to Denali’s ass and squeezes, making Denali’s hips jerk. “And this.” She lowers her head to Denali’s stomach and presses a kiss to the center, just beneath her breasts. “This.” She runs her lips up to Denali’s bralette and kisses over her left nipple, then the right. “I like these, too.”

Denali takes the bralette off and guides Rosé’s lips to her with a hand in her curls. Rosé kisses her chest, tongue teasing Denali’s skin, and Denali sighs and pulls her face even closer. She rocks her hips as though that will give her friction enough to ease the tension between her thighs. Rosé takes a nipple between her lips and urges her to grind down into her lap. Denali can feel herself getting wetter by the second, and between Rosé’s tongue teasing her nipples and the barely-there friction on her pussy, she’s _dying_ for Rosé to touch her more.

“Fuck me,” Denali pants.

She feels Rosé’s smirk against her chest and for a second she’s worried Rosé will tease her more — but Rosé shifts her thong to the side and brushes her knuckles over her clit. Denali’s moan is embarrassingly loud for that simple of a touch. It makes Rosé look up at her with a huge grin, and Denali’s cheeks turn pink. She doesn’t look away, though; instead she presses harder into Rosé’s hand and lets her eyes flutter closed, releases a small moan.

Rosé doesn’t waste anymore time, now. She turns her hand over and presses her fingers to Denali’s entrance. Denali is fighting every instinct in her body to move, to push Rosé’s hand against her and fuck herself on her. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses her forehead to Rosé’s.

“You’re so wet for me, baby,” Rosé says against her lips. “Do you want me to fuck you right now, just like this?”

“ _Please,_ ” she begs, “please fuck me.”

Rosé kisses her at the same time that she fucks two fingers into Denali. Denali moans against her lips and lets her hips finally move, finally search for what she needs most. For all the control that Rosé had, Denali feels her getting frantic, too. She flicks her wrist in time with the thrusts of Denali’s hips and presses the heel of her hand up so Denali can grind her clit on it. Denali breaks the kiss to breathe and she leans down, moans against the shell of Rosé’s ear. Rosé bites and sucks on her collarbone and squeezes her ass with her free hand, pulling her even closer by it so hard Denali thinks she’ll bruise.

When Rosé adds a third finger and presses them against her front wall, Denali loses all control of her movements. Her legs ache from supporting her thrusts and she’s sweating from the effort. Rosé holds her upright with strong arms and bids her to thrust faster, harder, until Denali feels herself on the edge.

“Fuck, it’s—” Denali digs her nails into the back of Rosé’s neck and thrusts harder. “So good, I’m so close.”

Rosé breathes with her, angles her fingers deeper. “That’s it. You feel so fucking good, baby. I want you to come for me. Are you going to come?”

“ _Yes_ , Rosé, fuck—“

Denali gives one final thrust and stills, moaning, the tension in her stomach bursting. Rosé kisses her and rubs her clit through it until her legs tremble and she tells her to stop. She takes away her hand, fingers covered in cum, and shakes out her wrist that’s likely stiff from the angle. Denali’s body goes limp and they tumble back onto the bed in a heap, Denali half on top of Rosé. Rosé laughs, kisses the top of her head and wraps her arms around Denali’s waist.

“Christ, Denali, that was…” Rosé says, shaking her head, her lips brushing over Denali’s forehead.

Denali kisses the corner of Rosé’s jaw and props her head on her hand. “Good?”

Rosé nods. “Baby, you are so fucking sexy.” She tucks a strand of hair behind Denali’s ear and pulls her into a kiss.

They kiss languidly at first, then Denali feels Rosé shift her hips just slightly. Denali blindly runs a hand over Rosé’s chest, flicks her thumb over a nipple, earning a jerk of Rosé’s hips; she keeps going to her waist and squeezes it, then finally reaches her pussy. It’s so wet already that her fingers slip through the folds when Rosé jerks again. Denali smiles against Rosé’s mouth and pulls away to kiss across her jaw and to her ear.

She lets out something between a breath and a moan. “You _really_ liked that, huh?” She circles Rosé’s clit with her fingers slowly, lightly. “You liked being under me, watching me fuck myself on you.” She bites Rosé’s ear, and Rosé _literally_ whines.

“Yes.”

Denali looks at her and smirks. She speeds up the movement of her fingers, adding just a little more pressure to Rosé’s clit. “How long have you been waiting to fuck me?” Rosé’s eyes go wide, and for a moment she looks unsure, but Denali nods to encourage her.

“For weeks,” Rosé says, “since the first time I talked to you at the bar.” Denali speeds up her fingers a little more, and Rosé’s breath hitches, though she tries to keep her face still. Her eyes never leave Denali’s, and Denali has to swallow thickly to focus.

“I bet you’ve thought a lot about how you want to fuck me.” Denali’s heart thuds at the slight nod Rosé gives. “Tell me all the ways you want to fuck me.”

Rosé stares at her for a long moment, her mouth parted slightly. Denali can see the desire in her eyes, can feel the way her hips twitch in time with Denali’s fingers. “I…” Denali urges her on by increasing the pace and firmness of her fingers once again. “Fuck, I want to hold you down and tease you until you can’t stand it.” Denali rewards her by speeding up her fingers. Rosé moans, and the words begin to tumble from her mouth. “I want to make you come harder than you ever have. I want you to sit on my face, and I want to—” Her fingers, splayed on Denali’s back, suddenly curl and grab onto her skin for traction. She thrusts her hips. “I want to fuck you with my strap.”

Denali kisses her to distract herself from how absolutely _fucking_ turned on she is already. She stops circling Rosé’s clit, instead lightly flicking her finger over it quickly, and she feels Rosé’s moans against her lips.

“Move back,” Denali whispers when she pulls away, and she gets off of Rosé so they can move up the bed. Rosé scrambles up the bed, shoving the abstract duvet down to expose light pink sheets. She lays down, her legs already spread and waiting, pussy glistening with wetness. Denali can’t wait to taste her.

She wastes no time, going straight between Rosé’s legs and kissing over her clit. Her lips get wet, and she flicks her tongue over them and suppresses a moan at the taste. Rosé’s hips shift closer to Denali’s lips, and she threads her fingers through Denali’s dark hair. Denali smirks and looks at Rosé from beneath her lashes, finds Rosé staring at her with the most adorable, impatient pout she’s ever seen.

“Oh my God, Denali,” Rosé huffs, “just fucking—” Before she can say anything else, Denali puts her tongue right on Rosé’s clit, and she cuts herself off with the loudest moan Denali’s ever heard.

She starts off light, but Rosé’s hips thrash so much that she has no choice but to pin her down and press further into her cunt. Rosé’s fingers scratch her scalp in a desperate attempt to pull her closer, to get _more_. It makes Denali’s pussy throb with need, so she gives her exactly what she wants. She sucks her clit into her mouth, tonguing it quickly, and fucks her with two fingers. When she looks up, she sees Rosé’s head tilted back, mouth open and moaning, and her arm over her eyes.

“Don’t stop, baby, fuck,” Rosé gasps.

Denali sucks her clit harder, flicks her tongue over it faster. The hand in her hair tightens and Rosé’s thighs clench around her head and then Rosé comes with a gasp, hips jerking violently. Denali fucks her through her orgasm, licking it from her pussy, then pulls out and sits up on her knees. She watches Rosé regain her breath, marvels at the beautiful hourglass curve of her waist and the softness of her breasts. Rosé’s moans echo in her mind, sweet as her voice, and she _needs_ Rosé to touch her again.

When Rosé seems to have recovered, Denali strips off her thong and straddles Rosé’s body. Rosé lifts her arm and looks at her, eyes wide but with a smirk growing on her lips. “Again?”

Denali shrugs and shifts so her legs frame Rosé’s shoulders. “I mean, if you can’t keep up…”

“I just had the best orgasm of my life and a sexy woman is going to sit on my face, I’m not complaining,” Rosé says. Denali tries to ignore that it was the _best orgasm of her life_ and focuses on the task at hand. Her knees are at Rosé’s ears, her pussy just below Rosé’s chin. “But, like, aren’t your legs tired?”

“I’m an athlete.” Denali reaches for Rosé’s hands and places them on her thighs. “Figure skating is all legs.”

Rosé squeezes her thighs gently and clears her throat. “Yep, yeah, I see that.”

Denali giggles, and she hears Rosé laugh breathily from beneath her, too. Then, Rosé takes her hips and pulls her down to her mouth. Denali grasps the white, faux leather headboard and shudders out a breath when Rosé licks through her folds and flicks her tongue over her clit. Rosé’s hands are rough where they grab her and tug her to her mouth, like she can’t get close enough, and it makes the whole thing hotter. Denali rides her tongue until she comes, faster this time than before, and her legs do finally give out.

She collapses onto the bed beside Rosé, and Rosé wipes her mouth on the back of her hand before shifting Denali’s body and tucking her beneath the covers. Denali’s ears are ringing and she can hear her heart beating overtop of it. She closes her eyes and laughs, just laughs and lets Rosé fit a pillow behind her head and press into her side.

“Have I worn you out, yet?”

Denali opens her eyes and finds Rosé, propped on one arm, looking down at her. She reaches up and pulls her into a kiss, licks her own cum from Rosé’s lips and teases her tongue. Rosé makes a noise in the back of her throat and Denali decides she still hasn’t had enough. She turns on her side, grabs at Rosé’s leg and pulls it over her own, pressing her thigh against Rosé’s pussy. Rosé gasps and pulls away from the kiss, rests her forehead on Denali’s.

“I think I’m good for one more,” Denali whispers, “and I think you are, too.”

Rosé laughs. “You know I’ll be here tomorrow, right?” she asks, but she rocks her hips all the same, spreading her wetness over Denali’s thigh.

Denali fucks her like that, under the covers; it’s hot and sweaty, and by the time she gets Rosé off, they’re both panting, eyes half-closed. Rosé throws her arm behind her, searching for the lamp switch. When she turns it off the room falls into darkness, but for the street lights shining through the window. They face each other, and Denali gently runs the pads of her fingers over Rosé’s cheek. Rosé turns and kisses the palm of her hand, then pulls her in by the waist and tells her to sleep.

* * *

Denali is woken by the bed shifting, and she blinks her eyes open just in time to see Rosé leave the bedroom and go into the bathroom just outside. She looks around, finally having the wherewithal to notice anything in the bedroom but Rosé. It’s sparsely decorated with white furniture and pink accents, a _Kinky Boots_ poster and a Stephanie’s Child flyer on the wall above Rosé’s small desk. The room is relatively neat — the only things left out on her desk are a photo of a little girl, a group shot with Jan and Lagoona, and her laptop; the messiest part of the room is the closet, where through a small opening in the door she sees that it’s filled to the brim with clothes.

Satisfied with her findings, Denali stretches her back and legs with a yawn. She actually is sore, now, after a night of dancing and fucking. It’s the most amazing she’s felt in months, sex-sore and surrounded by the vanilla scent of Rosé. She closes her eyes.

A few moments later, the bathroom door opens and Denali hears Rosé slip inside. She pulls the covers back gently and slides in, wrapping her arm around Denali’s waist from behind. She moves her hair to the side and kisses Denali’s shoulder. Denali smiles, turning her head to let Rosé nuzzle against her neck.

“Good morning,” Rosé whispers.

Denali hums. “Morning.” She wiggles back against Rosé, and Rosé puts a firm hand on her hipbone before running it over her ass.

“Did you know that you have a fantastic ass and I am obsessed with it?” Rosé asks, fully feeling up her ass, now. She squeezes right over a sore spot and it stings pleasantly.

“You grabbed it so hard it’s bruised, baby, I think I could tell.”

Denali moans when Rosé touches another sore spot, and she feels Rosé smile against her neck. “I’d apologize, but you seem to like it.”

“Mhm.” Denali turns over so she’s facing Rosé, now. “How’d you guess I like it rough?”

Rosé swallows thickly. “I, uh, didn’t, but… I can do it more.”

She punctuates her sentence with a gentle slap to Denali’s ass, and Denali lets out a sigh that turns to a laugh. All this time, Rosé has been cocky and confident, if a little arrogant, and it’s turned Denali on as much as it’s frustrated her. Being in bed with her is different, though; she glides between cocky and bashful as smoothly as Denali glides over ice. Thinking about the duality of Rosé laid before her makes her laugh even harder. Rosé seems to realize that Denali’s laughing at her, and she glares at her before kissing her.

Denali pushes her away with a hand on her chest. “No,” she says, still giggling, “don’t kiss me, I have morning breath.”

“I don’t care,” Rosé whispers, and she kisses her again.

Keeping with her promise, Rosé’s hands move over her body roughly, slowly. She squeezes and scratches her ass, then gently runs her fingers to her breasts. She kneads them and pinches her nipples, and Denali’s body jumps involuntarily each time. Finally, her fingers make their way to Denali’s hair and grab it at the base of her neck. She pulls her head back by her hair and Denali moans.

Rosé kisses down her neck, sucking hickeys as she goes. She traces her tongue up the line of Denali’s neck, grip still firm on her hair, and stops at her ear. “What do you want?”

Denali shifts in Rosé’s grasp so she can look in her eyes. “Your strap.”

With a hint of a smile on her lips, Rosé releases Denali’s hair and climbs out of bed. Denali watches her open her nightstand drawer and start pulling things out: harness briefs, lube, and a light pink dildo. _On brand_ , Denali thinks with a laugh, and she’s about to say it, too, but the smoldering look Rosé gives her when she turns back around makes her clench her jaw and swallow thickly. Rosé slips the briefs on and threads the dildo through the o-ring.

Rosé kneels back on the bed, and she looks so _fucking_ hot that Denali spreads her legs without being asked. She prays to whatever deity there is that Rosé doesn’t tease her, she just needs for her to be inside her, to fill her. She thankfully gets her wish. Rosé pops open the lube cap and spreads it over the dildo, then fits between Denali’s thighs and brings it to her entrance.

“It vibrates. Is that okay?” Rosé asks.

Denali can only nod and shift her hips just slightly so the tip presses harder against her. Rosé turns the vibrations on, and then she slowly pushes in, her whole body moving forward and on top of Denali. Denali sucks in a breath and wraps her legs around Rosé’s hips to help get used to the size.

“Holy shit.”

Denali can feel the vibrations running through her cunt, pulsating against her g-spot, and the way it stretches her is pleasant. Rosé looks at her like she’s the moon radiating brilliance from below her. She leans on one arm and runs her finger from Denali’s collarbone to the column of her throat, then wraps her whole hand around it, not squeezing but holding her in place. Denali’s mouth parts and she stares into Rosé’s eyes, her breaths coming quick. She’s never experienced anything hotter than this.

“You are so beautiful,” Rosé says softly. She slides her thumb to Denali’s chin and tilts her head back slightly, then runs the pad of it over Denali’s lower lip. Denali opens her mouth more, lets Rosé slip her thumb into it and sucks. She doesn’t miss the shuddering breath Rosé releases. Denali’s hips jerk, so Rosé takes her hand away and puts it on the bed, giving her first, deep thrust. Denali moans. “Look at you.” Rosé begins slow, sets an even rhythm to the beat of Denali’s noises. “You take my strap so well, baby.”

Denali is beside herself. The sensations in her body are overwhelming and she’s not sure how to convey this to Rosé, so she pulls her into a kiss. Rosé is fucking her and the vibrations are hitting _just_ right and Rosé’s tongue slides over hers — she’s never felt more surrounded by, more _consumed_ by a person than she does now. It’s intoxicating. Denali tugs Rosé closer, lets her thrust faster, deeper. Her orgasm builds in her like a pressure that burns through her and is about to consume her. On a particularly deep thrust, she breaks the kiss to cry out and arches her back.

“Please, I’m close,” she babbles, “I’m so fucking close. Fuck, _please_.”

She doesn’t know what she’s begging for, exactly, but Rosé does; she snakes her hand between them, still keeping her pace, and she rubs her knuckles over Denali’s clit. The dildo hits her at just the right angle and she feels the vibrations in her clit, along with Rosé’s hand, and she comes practically screaming Rosé’s name.

Rosé stills and drops her forehead onto the pillow next to Denali’s head, panting. She turns the vibrations off but doesn’t pull out, just gives herself and Denali a moment to breathe.

“Are you alive?” she asks.

Denali lets out a weak laugh. “I honestly don’t know.”

Rosé pulls out, and Denali whimpers. She sits back, strips the harness and dildo off, and sets them to the side so she can lay next to Denali. “Was that your first time using one?”

“No,” Denali says, still staring at the ceiling, “it’s just been a while.”

Rosé brushes a sweaty strand of hair from Denali’s face and kisses her cheek. “I’m glad it was good for you.” She says it more like a question than a statement, so Denali turns to face her. She sees that momentary hesitation that’s new to Denali, and Denali realizes that even the fuckboy Rosé needs affirmation.

“Good is an understatement. I honestly don’t think I can move.”

“That’s okay.” Rosé says, and she smiles so big her eyes squint. “Why don’t I start on breakfast and you can meet me when you’re ready.” Denali nods, so Rosé kisses her cheek again and gets up again. "You can borrow whatever clothes you want,” She tugs open one of the drawers in her dresser and pulls out a shirt, then opens another and takes out underwear, dressing herself quickly. She grabs the harness and dildo and heads for the door. Before she leaves, she turns back and flashes Denali her signature smirk.

Denali looks at the ceiling and lets out a long breath. She’s been _thoroughly_ fucked in the span of twelve hours and her body is both cursing her and thanking her. But, for all that it took to get her here, in Rosé’s bed, her mind is surprisingly calm. Maybe it’s because Rosé is just that good in bed — or maybe it’s because Denali has wanted this even longer than she’ll care to admit. She’s done hook ups before, sure; but the serial monogamist in her hasn’t found those anywhere near as satisfying as this. Thinking about that makes her groan.

Rosé likes her, wants to know her — or so she said. The part of her brain that Denali’s been listening to this whole time — the cynical part that seemed to have gotten smaller in the last twelve hours — pops up again and considers that it all could have been an act. Rosé could have been telling her what she wanted to hear just to get her to open up, only so she could sleep with her. Then Denali remembers the look in her eyes as they danced, after they kissed, when they fucked — the tenderness with which she held her, woke her up with kisses, handled her body like the bed was an altar and she was the divine centerpiece.

Guilt bubbles up bitterly in her chest, and for the first time she wonders when she became so _broken_.

Denali can’t lay in this bed unknowingly anymore, so she picks herself up. Her legs swing heavily over the side of the mattress and hit the floor. They’re still shaking from the intensity of the strap, but she’s an athlete — so she gets up and makes her way to the dresser. She finds a Scottish rugby jersey and some spandex that she thinks Rosé won’t mind her using for underwear and shorts, then dresses before scouring the ground.

Her phone is in a pile of her shoes, dress, and bralette, nearly out of battery. She has texts from her group text that she’s too tired to answer, and a few individually from Olivia both encouraging her to _Go for it!! Have fun!!_ with Rosé and asking that she let her know that she’s okay. Denali opens their texts and responds:

_I slept at hers, about to have breakfast. I’ll update you later love._

She brings her phone to the nightstand and finds Rosé’s charger, plugging her phone in and leaving it facedown on the table. Satisfied that it’s charging, she goes to the bathroom. The scent of potatoes cooking has wafted through the apartment, and Denali’s stomach rumbles. She finds, thankfully, that Rosé has left an unopened toothbrush on the counter, as well as makeup wipes and face soap. Denali runs through those quickly, pees, and then, finally feeling refreshed, heads for the kitchen.

Rosé senses when she enters the open-concept kitchen and turns from the stove, smiling. “You made it.”

“Barely,” Denali says. She goes to Rosé’s side and surveys the spread — she’s cooking shredded potatoes now and has a few plates covered in foil beside the stove. There are egg shells in a bowl nearby. “My legs are shaking and I’m starving.”

The potatoes are done, and Rosé turns off the burner, setting the pan aside so they don’t overcook. She absently reaches for Denali’s waist and pats it before returning to the food. “Go sit down, I’m pretty much done.”

Denali turns around and spots two barstools at the island set before waters, placemats, napkins, and silverware. Rosé is surprisingly organized — her silver placemats match the silver-and-white decor of the room, and there are only pockets of clutter that reveal her imperfections. Denali sits on one of the stools and looks at the stack of newspaper that sits on the end of the counter closest to her. Rosé peels the foil from the plates, adds the potatoes to them, and brings them over to the island. There’s scrambled eggs and two pieces of buttered toast next to the potatoes, all perfectly cooked. Denali barely looks at Rosé before digging in.

“This is amazing,” Denali says, a bite of toast in her mouth.

Rosé shrugs and continues to eat, obviously as hungry as her. “Thanks. My mom used to make really good breakfast, this is a little lame compared to hers.” They eat in silence for a little bit, and once Denali is mostly finished with her plate, she takes a long drink of water. Rosé glances at her out of the corner of her eye a few times, opens her mouth and closes it. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

Denali puts her water glass down and thinks. “Uh, I took most of the day off because I figured I’d be hungover, but I have a late lesson at five.”

Rosé nods her head a few times, and Denali waits for the inevitable, awkward moment when Rosé asks her to leave. “It’s— what, twelve-thirty, now?” Denali nods, looks down at her plate and plays with the remaining potatoes. “That’s great. I figured we could just chill on the couch and watch a movie or something, if you feel like it, and then—”

“I’m sorry,” Denali says. She puts her fork on the plate, probably a little too hard. Her heart is beating fast and she’s honestly a little light-headed, and she’s regretting everything bad she’s ever thought about Rosé and her intentions. “I’m so sorry about last weekend, you’re not a selfish piece of shit.”

Rosé’s jaw drops for a moment, and then she shakes her head. “Hey, no. Don’t apologize.” She pushes her plate to the side and scoots her barstool closer to Denali so she can put a gentle hand on her arm. “You were right.”

“No, I wrote you off as a fuckboy, and it was stupid, just like you said.”

“I was a fuckboy.” Rosé takes Denali’s chin between her fingers gently to keep her from shaking her head. “Yes, I was, or I am. Whatever.” She lets go of Denali’s chin and runs a hand through her hair. “I did some processing with Jan and Lagoona, and we came to the conclusion that I was being an asshole. I fucking liked you and I shouldn’t have been flirting with other people just because we weren’t a thing.”

Denali’s heart pounds, and for a moment she isn’t sure what to say. She thinks back to all those things she thought of Rosé — from the beginning until now. She never thought that Rosé would be this mature, this intelligent or caring. She looks at her lap and tries to shove away the complicated feelings — the guilt, the fear, even the hope — and really think about what she _needs_.

“Every week I saw you dance with someone and take them home,” she says quietly, “and it was hard to believe that you actually wanted me. It’s still hard to believe that.”

Rosé looks into Denali’s eyes, and Denali can see the courage and the sincerity in them. “Yeah. I didn’t know how else to act or process my feelings, and it was the wrong thing to do.” She takes Denali’s hand in her own. “I want to earn your trust and get to know you. You’re really _fucking_ amazing, Denali, and you’re so beautiful and talented. Ask Jan and ‘Goona, I haven’t stopped talking about you for weeks.”

“I mean, I could say the same about you, but I can’t promise it’s always been good things,” Denali says. She gives Rosé a shy smile that grows bigger when Rosé laughs. She tends up and picks up their plates, shooing Rosé when she tries to help. “Just put the movie on.”

Denali puts their plates and silverware in the dishwasher and loads the pans in the sink, then meets Rosé on the grey sofa. Without hesitation, Rosé’s chosen to watch _The Mask_ , which Denali vaguely remembers from when she saw it years ago. She tucks into Rosé’s side, and Rosé covers them in a blanket before pressing a kiss to Denali’s head and pulling her close. Denali learns quickly that Rosé knows every word to this movie and it’s _still_ impossible to draw her attention away from it.

Halfway through the movie, Denali has spaced out, her eyes closed, and is thinking instead about her life, her relationships, and Rosé. This morning, as a culmination of the last few weeks, has shown her that she’s obviously more messed up than she realized. Her last relationship ended so terribly and she internalized that. Her trust issues run deep, and she thinks that they’re so deep she can’t get past them. Her chest starts heaving with the inability to breathe, and it’s all she can do to keep still in the midst of this weird panic attack.

Rosé runs a hand through Denali’s hair and looks down at her. “Are you okay?” Denali peers at her from beneath her lashes, and Rosé must see the fear in her eyes, because she turns her body so they’re almost eye-level. “Talk to me, baby.”

“I’m broken,” Denali blurts. “You say you want to get to know me but I don’t know how serious you’re expecting this to be, and if you want it to just be a friends with benefits thing, that’s fine, I can do that, I think. But if you want this to be a relationship, I think I’m messed up. I think I’m really broken and I’m not the right person to be with.”

Rosé puts her hand on Denali’s chest, right over her heart. “I wanna talk about that in a second, but just breathe with me first.” She takes a deep breath, and Denali does her best to mirror. “Breathe, good job. Do you feel better physically?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Rosé says. She cups Denali’s cheek. “Listen, this can be whatever you want it to be. I don’t even know what it could be, but I do know that there’s just _something_ about you that…” Rosé purses her lips in thought, then laughs a little. “Well, that makes me want to be a better person, because I feel this connection with you. And I don’t think you’re broken, not at all.” She taps Denali’s nose. “Someone tried to break you but you were too strong to break. We all bend, though, right?”

Denali swallows thickly. “Right.”

“I… I’ve bent, too, except I was the one trying to break myself.” Rosé looks down, then at Denali’s lips, then back to her eyes. “Let’s try and figure out our shapes together, okay?”

Denali smiles, her breath fully calming down now. Her chest hurts from the strain of anxiety but she has Rosé to cradle her, hold her safely until she can hold herself again. She leans her head forward, presses her forehead against Rosé’s. Rosé’s hands cup her cheeks.

“Thank you,” Denali whispers, and she kisses Rosé. She kisses her until her chest feels light again and her hands don’t shake, and then she kisses her more.

They make out on the sofa, Denali stretched out below Rosé, while the movie ends and autoplay starts another one — they make out for a while, only stopping to laugh or say a few words or kiss each others cheeks and necks. Denali feels like she’s in high school again, and it’s the most special she’s felt in a long time. When they kiss, when Rosé’s soft hands grasp her body, when they almost fall off the sofa and laugh — it feels like they're beginning to build a shape, each on their own and one together.

They shower together, Rosé promising to keep it quick so Denali isn’t late for work, but she can’t resist kissing Denali and Denali can’t resist it, either. Rosé offers Denali her clothes to wear, so she dons a soft pair of black joggers and a Stephanie’s Child sweatshirt. The rink really isn’t far from Rosé’s, so they take the fifteen minute walk together, talking about history and language, Denali’s year in Korea and Rosé’s life in Scotland.

At the door to the rink, they turn and face each other like every other inescapable end to a first date — except this wasn’t a date, not really. Denali supposes it doesn’t matter when there’s a promise of more.

Rosé takes her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Denali asks.

“I don’t know.” Rosé shrugs, but she smiles wider. “A fantastic night of fucking.”

Denali rolls her eyes, shakes her head. “You’re _such_ a fuckboy.”

“What? It’s the truth!”

“Sure.” Denali hides her giggle behind her hand. She looks around, notices a family going in through the other door. She has to go to her lesson — and she’s excited to get on the ice, despite the lasting weakness in her legs — but something is keeping her here in front of Rosé. “Don’t forget the morning. The morning was fantastic, too.”

“It was,” Rosé says. She leans back onto her heels. “You should head inside.”

Denali nods. “Yep.”

They move in sync, meeting in the small space between them to kiss. Denali cups Rosé’s cheek and holds her in place, afraid that if she moves they’ll never return to this place. She has to let her go, though; so she nibbles her lip before pulling away. Rosé’s smile is big but her eyes are a little sad. She takes a step back, then gives her that obnoxious, douchey nod that now makes Denali laugh.

When Rosé turns away, Denali practically reaches out to her. “Rosé, wait.”

Rosé practically trips over the curb, regains her footing on the pavement before she falls and swivels like nothing’s happened. “Yeah?”

“You can come in and watch.” Denali points over her shoulder to the rink. “If you want.”

“I’m supposed to get dinner with Jan and Lagoona,” Rosé says. Denali’s face falls, and she looks down at her feet. She’s not sure what she was expecting — that Rosé would want to spend another night with her? “But I can pick you up after.” Denali’s head flies up. “I’ll get you takeout. Seven, right?”

Denali smiles. “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the comments I literally love them and they validate me so much. I may post another quick little chapter but I'm not making any promises because I'm really busy


End file.
